


A Seat At The Table

by Mualhani



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Black and African Relations, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Identity Issues, Internalized racism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Black Panther (2018)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mualhani/pseuds/Mualhani
Summary: "They say Black like I've heard it all my life; as something that doesn't belong. A stain on this world, and yet my color is integrated in the very beginnings of life. I'm not looking for revenge; I'm looking for acceptance and to be able to live freely."





	1. Where Do We Go

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel offended by the fact that the reader was made to be Black/African American, then this isn't for you. If you're put off by the issues brought up in this, then this isn't for you. If you can't appreciate the truth of this story, then this isn't for you.
> 
> F.U.B.U.

Mama didn't raise a fool, but you knew there were things that she couldn't prepare you for.

She couldn't prepare you for the way the photographer called you a 'pretty, little thing' in sixth grade. The way he complimented the pastel yellow sundress she bought for you from Sears; it was a sale, so she bought another one for Easter Sunday.

She certainly couldn't prepare you for the anger you felt towards your hair when it got too _nappy_ for your tastes. How could she know when she couldn't stand her own hair that way? All she could do was go get you both a perm; a fifteen year old shouldn't be so excited to put chemicals in her hair.

Spirits know that she _tried_ to prepare you for a country that couldn't stand your kind. Made sure you enunciated your words and kept out of trouble; hair pressed and clothes better than she had as a child. She never wanted you to struggle, but she knew that struggle would come when your melanin was the first thing people saw.

You loved her, and that's why you tried so hard to do everything to the best of your abilities, and then some. Math was never your strong suit, but you managed high school with good grades, though the weight that sat on your shoulders was growing. A weight that had been placed before you were conceived.

College had brought more questions than answers; it brought a shaved head and books written before your time. Internal battles were raised as you navigated, not only how to be an adult, but to be yourself. Battles that raised a need to know more than you were taught, and boy, did it take you places.

You saw sights that made your stomach turn and scenery that brought a warm crest in your heart. Saw the best that people had to offer, and still saw the worst, yet you tried to sew the seeds of good will where you went. Whether it be in kind words or affirmative action, you tried your _best_ to be more than what they saw you as.

However, you knew that mama couldn't prepare you for this.

Currently, you were attending a dinner with your beloved; an event of goodwill between Wakanda and some other countries. T'Challa had noted that you might be a bit bored at some points, as he knew that sitting still wasn't your forte. _"Restless as a butterfly."_ He would often say.

At the same time, you grew more curious about the affairs of Wakanda, and you did so love to see him dressed up. If nothing else, you could saddle up with Shuri and crack jokes; by which, the both of you could effortlessly judge other people's fashion sense. 

Speaking of which, the young prodigy had gifted you with a lovely dress for the evening; it was an outside affair, so the fabric was light and billowing. Soft, cotton dyed a burnt orange that complimented the warmth of your skin well; sleeves cuffed at the wrists and legs on display from the high splits. Considering Ramonda was out of the country at the moment, Shuri had taken a chance on giving you something more provocative, yet classy.

However, for as good as you looked, you couldn't help but feel a certain level of discomfort. It was no secret that you were a Black American, but there was still this small part of you that had hoped that it wouldn't be a hindrance; not in Africa, but definitely not in Wakanda, of all places. Yet, you found yourself catching those whispers and scrutinizing gazes from associates of T'Challa; even those of the Wakandan court. Solidarity had been your goal, but some juvenile part of you had hoped that it would be a given amongst people of your own kind.

You weren't one of them though; to them, you were just some outsider that happened to rival their looks. In some ways, you supposed you were, but how could that be your fault? 

How were things that were not your doing _your fault_?

Moving about the party was easy enough; you were used to mingling on your own from the days after college. T'Challa was never too far away, and you were silently glad for that, but the moment came that he had to go speak privately with someone for a moment. He gently kissed your hand and promised his return, to which you gently chided him and shooed him away. You preoccupied yourself with speaking to Steve and Natasha for a little bit, before excusing yourself to get something to drink. 

"I still don't know why he would not rather Nakia. She would be far more suited, would she not?"

Immediately, the burning rose upon your cheeks, but you did not pause once in your stride. There was no reason to make a fuss over two women that did not matter; they held no weight on your relationship to T'Challa or _yourself_. 

"One of those _African Americans_."

Teeth grit, you choked down your champagne and looked to the setting sun of Wakanda. 

A scoff was heard, followed by a honey sweet, mocking tone. "You know better, Aliya. She's a _Black American_."

Head turning sharply, you glared through tear brimmed eyes and silently cursed yourself for letting it get to you. They caught your gaze and tittered quietly before dismissing themselves amongst the people. You set your glass down and made your way from the festivities; stubbornly ignoring the call of Shuri after you. The pace of your feet only grew—stopping once to kick your heels off.

_**"Black."** _

When would you stop hearing it in such a manner? Perversion, disdain, disgust, hate, irritation; when will there be a day when there is love in that word?


	2. Don't Wish Me Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are allowed to be angry, but you can't let it be what decides your life. You can't let it integrate every decision you are faced with because you won't find peace that way. It will destroy you."
> 
> A frustrated sigh. "I don't know how to stop it some days; it hurts."
> 
> "Then let me hurt for you, as well. You are not alone, my dove."

_"Mama, am I black enough?"_

_Your mother paused at the sink and turned her head so fast towards you; a clear look of anger and disappointment written on her face. For a moment, you were concerned that you had done something wrong, but the crinkles of her eyes softened and she began wiping her hands dry with the dish towel. She gently ushered you over to the kitchen table and had you sit down beside her, but not before placing a kiss on your forehead._

_"Baby, there is no way to act black, or any other race. You can only be you in this world, and a lot of people are gonna twist that into somethin' else. I want you to be true to yourself, even if this world is gonna try and make you into somethin' you're not."_

_She held your small hand in hers, and even at seven years old, you could note the strength in them. How many times had those hands to fight harder than you'd ever have to? How many of her own tears had she wiped in her lifetime? Before you knew it, there were tears streaking down your cheeks, and she gently wiped them with her thumbs._

_"I love you, baby."_

_Leaning into the hug she gave, you nestled against her chest. "I love you too, Mama."_

She was miles away, and you could use one of those hugs right now.

You had come to a stop on one of the many hills throughout Wakanda; legs burning with the strain you had put them through. Plopping down on the grass, you stared longingly at the sunset's brilliant colors. There was an ache in your throat because you thought you had found the place to cure that damned _longing_ after so many years, but no.

You were still searching, even amongst a place that should have all your answers.

The tears brimming your eyelashes spilled over, but you felt no need to hide them. There was no one else around this time, and you just didn't have the strength to put on a brave face anymore. 

"Well, you certainly ran farther than my sister thought."

Upon hearing T'Challa's warm voice, you began dabbing the moisture from your face with the inside of your sleeve. However, he was having none of it; settling beside you with a gentle hand cradling the back of your neck. It was unfair how easily he could crumble your defenses down, because just his touch made the tears fall faster. You turned your gaze to his and revelled silently in the tender affection in his eyes.

He sighed softly and placed a kiss upon your forehead before pulling you into his arms. Soft hiccups left your throat as you cried freely against the crook of his neck.

"I don't get it, and it makes me so _fucking_ mad...There's so many of us that want that unity, but when I see someone that looks just like me _deny_ how I came to be, it doesn't make any sense! I don't want to take away from this land, T'Challa; I want to finally live _free_. You've seen America and its' lies of freedom, and I know there are countries that are even worse, but I'm just—I'm so tired."

Strong fingers gently kneaded the base of your neck as you poured your heart out; lips gently kissing your temple. 

"Where can we go? When is it going to be safe? If not here and now, then where and goddamn when? I'm too young to be this tired, and all I can think about his how much more tired my mama must've been all her life. Even now, how many times has she felt this same feeling and wished that I never would have to?"

Moving to cradle your face, T'Challa wiped your tears away before speaking.

"Your heart is very heavy, little dove, and I so wish you would empty it more often."

You gave a brief, but bitter laugh. "There are more important things to worry about."

"How you feel is not something to be invalidated. So often, you brush off the things that hurt you, but you should know by now that you cannot hide your heart from me. However, you are strong willed woman, and you'll put everything before your own well being. Well, my dove, you surely cannot hope to help heal this world if you do not tend to your own wounds."

T'Challa was firm in his tone, but concerned all the same. With opening up Wakanda to the world, he had an even bigger platform to bring positive change, but it had also opened his eyes to the pain that had been wrought upon those of African lineage around the world. At the end of the day, yes, he did want peace for everyone, but to see how hard they have had to struggle just to get one foot in the door—in some ways, he could understand Erik's rage.

Seeing that same anger and frustration and sadness on the face of the woman he loved only further solidified his goals. 

Looking at the emotional change in his expression, you couldn't help but giggle softly. "You know, mama's right. You can look like a kitten about to cry at any given moment."

A grin crossed his face at your words, the edges of his eyes crinkling in mirth. "I am starting to feel as if all of you make fun of me behind my back."

You snorted softly and pecked a kiss to his nose. "Of course not, sweetheart. We do it to your face too."

At that, he threw you the side eye, but the little grin on his full lips let you know that there was no conviction. You laughed softly and leaned into him, lips pressing against his in a lingering kiss. T'Challa sighed wistfully and cradled your jaw in his palm, lips moving in sync with your own. Movements you both knew like a well practiced dance; sweet and sultry. It wasn't long until you felt the embers of anger being replaced with affection, and you often deemed it unfair that he could so easily calm your restless waters.

Pulling away, the King pressed his forehead to your own and gazed lovingly; thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"The world will not change in a day, but know that it will. Not without trial and error, and certainly not without pain, but change is never easy. _Always_ know that you are welcome amongst Wakanda; I plan to change this world, and I will need my future wife and Queen alongside me." 

You groaned playfully at his words and attempted to hide your elation, but he would have none of it. No, he pressed another kiss to your lips, but the warm tone that he spoke in made your heart melt like hot wax.

"Now, allow me to show you just how much I love you, my lovely, black butterfly."

As he helped you to your feet and began to usher you down the hill, you realized that for the first time in your life, you had that word with love and affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not think this would get so much love over night, but I am really glad that people enjoyed it. I plan to do more stories about race relations, but I feel this was a good breakthrough fic. If it's not too much, could you guys spread this around? I really want to connect with people about this story.
> 
> Black Panther has just really done something amazing for us.
> 
> The next chapter is more smut than anything, but it feels dirty to call it that. I intend for it be sweet, tender love making because T'Challa just blossoms this feeling of love in my heart.


End file.
